Dealers of Guilt
Profane Omen
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Twisting the truth with a tongue so worthless that even the taste of shit goes to waste, vomit those words in case someone hasn't heard your opinion!
Raise yourself to be a preacher; tell the people how to live a sorry life, pretending you're not condescending.
I hate your guts!
The parasites dealing this guilt with their lies,
I dream of the day when the last of those leeches will die, WILL DIE!
Worthless words from a worthless mouth, but the noise you make heard over the truth.
I'm not listening so quit your endless bitchin'.
Let Me Be!
False preacher, a mail-order Jesus got the answers I don't fucking want.
You're not a master, I'm not a puppet.
Go stare at a barrel of a gun!
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